


Keep A Ritual

by Faery-Goblin (Voreadus)



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Dark/Mature Themes, F/M, Folklore, Human AU, Human Marianne AU, Inspired by Music, Middle Ages, Romance, Seelie Court, Slow Burn, Unseelie Court, court intrigue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7281010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voreadus/pseuds/Faery-Goblin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU set in a faery tale version of the Early Middle Ages of Scotland in which Princess Marianne is a human, and the tales of folklore are more fact than fiction. Bonds made and broken, and clever promises woven. Buying time, and savoring small moments. The girl Marianne and the Bog King of the Dark Forest learn to rewrite their own tales.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At The Altar

**Author's Note:**

> Let it be known that I am no historian, folklorist, or cultural expert- but I will try my best to represent these aspects to the best of my ability in the setting I've chosen. That being said, I am passionate about those subjects, and hope to present an enjoyable faery tale version of the time period, and an interesting twist on the folklore and mythology surrounding Faery in general. Each chapter, as well as the title of the story, will be inspired partly by a song, and I will put the title in the end note of the chapter.  
> ___
> 
>  **General Warning:** All chapter warnings are at the end of each chapter to avoid spoilers. If you have sensitivities to any mature themes check the end of the chapter for notes.  
>  _  
>  **Tags:** Character and relationship tags will be updated as the story goes, as well as warnings.  
>  _  
>  **A note on spelling/language/usage-** I use my personal prefered spelling of faery or faerie (as opposed to fairy, fay, etc.) which can refer to the faerie people, Faery as the land of the faeries, or an individual fae. I may occasionally switch back and forth, but the intent is the same. In this fic, goblins are a type of faerie, like pixies, brownie, sprites, or other such things. The Seelie, and Unseelie Court represent benevolent and maleficent troupes of faeries as they relate to humans. For the intent of the story there is a spectrum represented by seasonal courts- Autumn is a neutral Unseelie, Winter a maleficent one. Spring is a neutral Seelie, and Summer a benevolent.
> 
> ___

  
  
Something had hitched up inside Marianne when she saw it. Twisted around and stuck inside, playing behind her eyes, repeating.

She couldn’t seem to get the thought to wash away even as the rain poured over her. Even as she ran as far away from the truth of it as she could. Hems muddy, drenched and shivering, she escaped into the thicket. 

Being here was stupid; being here at night was even more so. She knew it. This place, dangerous, and wild, and old, was not for her. It held that sacred something that wagging tongues had prayed to new gods, in the company of ancient stones, to hold at bay. 

This was the place that stole lonely travelers away into the dark. She wondered if she’d ever been lonelier. If she’d ever wanted to be stolen away more than now.

A crack of thunder split through the empty places between the trees, and her footsteps pressed into the mud as they filled with rain in her wake. She turned her head to the sky and blinked through the heavy drops that rolled over her lashes. It made her wish she could be empty.

As she tried to take another step, pushing ever forward to somewhere- wherever wasn’t back there, her shoe caught in the mire, her thoughts betrayed her. She imagined being back at the great hall with tables full of food, and the roaring cleansing fires of celebration, as her leg struggled against the gulping wet sink of mud. 

She finally freed herself; minus one fine shoe. Her father would be furious.

She tried to distract herself from the disaster of it all. Thought of the long shadows of something new, and something old back at the hold. Of crosses, and iron, and stones who spoke in words that whirled over their faces. How hopes are whispered with eyes turned to heaven, but joy is shared around fires- and true hope comes from joy. Though, tonight there was none left for her. 

She tried to shake it off. Pressed her hands over the ruined outer skirt of her new dress, made especially for the occasion. Her mind stalled again at the thought. 

_Treasonous whispers in the dark. Tracing hands over something new, open, and soft. Not the soft fronts of fancy new frocks, but flesh instead, but not hers. Not his._

So, she decided she would belonged to no one. She liked it best that way.

With that, she bent down to take off the other shoe and toss it into the darkness. She wiggled her toes into the soft earth, and dug her senses into the dark wet smells, and planted her mind into the moment. Only right now. Only her.

Now everything around her seemed more right. Still, and in its place. The thrumming of her heart, and her sobbing breaths all relented enough to hear the way the forest was alive in the same way that she was. Dark, and desperately isolated, but alive. It was just the kind of lonely she needed.

She sank into the watery forest floor onto her knees. She thought about crying again, but there wasn’t any crying left to do, and so instead she found a laugh instead. The kind that spasms in the throat, and behind closed lips. The kind that sounds like crying until it barks out, in an absurd burst, like a madness. The kind of laughter that bared teeth. 

She kneeled at the altar of herself, because that’s all she had left here in the dark forest. She wanted to make a promise to fight, and ask for strength. That she would sacrifice her weakness here, and leave it behind to return as something whole. Someone from before right then. Someone who could still look forward to next spring. 

_Sacrifice._

The word brushed over her thoughts the same as her hand over the brooch that pinned her cloak. She slumped forward, but she was caught up in something. She pulled the pin from the fabric, and the heavy wet wool of it wilted down over her shoulders like folded wings. 

She felt something shower down on her, but the rain had already let up, and instead she found herself covered in white blossoms stuck to her wet skin. They had fallen from the branches that had clawed her clothes, and tangled in her hair.

She clutched the brooch in her hand, turning again to the sky, holding it up to admire the delicate work against the clouds which glowed like lanterns from the moonlight. She felt pained, at what she knew she would do, but that was just another weakness.

Now, she just wanted someone to understand her treasure; her gift. She ran her thumb over it, “My mother,” her words fell into the dark, “it belonged to her. He had it made for her when she had told him he’d be a father. It was his love for us, and it belonged to her- and then to me.”

She put the pin back into the loop, “Now that love- it belongs to the forest.” She smiled down at it, and tuned to the tree that had held her in place. 

She twisted to reach out, gingerly snagging a branch in her fingers to avoid the thorns, and placed the loop of her brooch onto it, all the while careful not to snap or damage the branches- for Hawthorns were faerie trees, and tonight was sacred. 

She studied the tree, and the gleaming ornament now in its branches. She could leave it here, and it felt like a relief. It could stay in the Dark Forest- the last of the love that no longer belonged to her. 

White blossoms floated in the puddles along the forest floor as the light of fireflies blinked through the humid aftermath of the storm. 

“It’s lovely,” the sentiment sighed from her as she looked around, and then down at herself, ruined and raw, “and not so much.” 

She felt ready though. Like she knew what the future might look like now. She had done a childish thing, running away, on the last day she was allowed to be a child. Now she could return with the time to decide what kind of woman she’d be. She could see beyond what that was supposed to look like. To whom that would mean she belonged. 

When her gaze fell back onto the tree she noticed something warm nestled under the low branches nearby. A single primrose bloomed. Glowed. The light felt like it was trying to reach inside her, greedily wanting to drink in what was left so that it could hold her stolen light cradled in its soft petals. Still, it felt right, as it seemed to breath- shivering in the breeze. It’s very presence left the sound of hollow chimes ringing in the wind. 

She was enchanted; she was bold. It was foolish, and selfish, and she knew better. Oh gods, old and new, she knew better, but her hand reached out to caress the petals. The softest she’d ever felt, the softest thing she could ever imagine, and for a moment she didn’t even care that it was so, so stupid.

The place where her fingers fell lit up with sensation, traveling up her arm, and surrounded her in an embrace. Her damp clothes felt sun-warmed and dry. Everything smelled fresh like spring rain, and wet moss, and earthy musk, yet somehow like the brightest floral melody at the same time- it sang to her senses. It felt like the truth, the most real reality, and it was reassuring and sure. It wrapped her in a sense of honesty, and held her needily. It felt like home.

Then, the only voice she’d ever wanted to hear again swept over her, “Kind. Smart. Brave. Such a soft heart, but with all the right angles. Look sweetly on the world with your warm amber eyes, but keep your wits as sharp as your sword, my darling,” it whispered through her. “You can always find your love where you left it.” A kiss ghosted over her forehead as the presence withdrew.

She was awed. So full, and whole. It was peaceful, and perfect, and everything she could want. It was just what she needed in that precise moment.

“Please,” Marianne’s tears were in her voice, “mother, don’t go.”

The sound echoed a begging cry through the emptiness around her as her hand drew back from the primrose like she had been holding it over fire. She felt so alone again, or maybe abandoned, as she regarded the flower with pitiable reverence.

“Please,” her hand reached halfway out for it again, “come back.”

Her fingers hovered over the edge of it, filled with the dangerous impulse to pluck it out. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, but the thought was there- greedy and wanting. Then, suddenly, she was filled with dread.

Every shadow that surrounded her oozed and lurched to life. As she saw it her limbs screamed out through her nerves to RUN. Run away. This place was not for you.

 _Trespasser._ The thought hissed through her.

“Thief,” the darkness accused in a grave chorus. 

She wanted to scream out, “No! I didn’t mean any harm. I would never,” but she had thought about it. It had crossed her mind to take what belongs to the forest, and to the Faerie. Like her mother’s love now belonged here. Like all her foolish love would be abandoned here, so she could return as something stronger. Or, now at least, so she could die with her heart belonging to only her. 

But, she didn’t want to die here. It struck her almost as a surprise when the impulse came over her. The instinct to survive. Especially with as lost as she had felt moments ago, but now she knew, and she had to live. To see what adventures the future still had left for her. So she sprung to her feet.

Immediately her head was wrenched back. Her hair had tangled into the branches. Pulled in, and knotted among the thorns and blossoms with mischievous intent, as she had ducked beneath the tree to reach the primrose.

She was trapped, but her gut told her she had to run. Now!

She grabbed at her hip, freeing the dagger she wore on her belt with a quick hand. She collected a hank of her long hair, hovering for a moment. _**He** always loved my hair_ , she had recalled, and that was enough for her to shear the locks without further hesitation.

Now she was free, but nothing looked right, as if the night had swallowed any indication of her heading. She scrambled up to her feet, and spun around to see the shadows were moving closer, whispering.

“He’s coming,” a harsh voice hissed from the dark nearby with a frightened inflection she didn’t much care for. 

“He’s coming. He’s coming!”

The voices erupted all around her now, becoming more shrill with each new panicked proclamation. Repeating with new intensity as they closed in on her.

“Grab her!”

Something croaked out nearby, and she didn’t hesitate. She turned on her heels and took off into the forest in the opposite direction.

Without shoes, she found stones punishing the soles of her feet as they pounded over them. Wild panic raced through her chest, and she didn’t feel the pain of them, nor the branches pawing at her. Tearing new holes in new dresses. She stumbled through briars and brush, tripping more than running, as she tangled her ankles in the roots around her. 

Worst of all, was not the pain of the forest’s assault on her intrusion, but a growing presence behind her. Like something was sucking out all the air, and eating away at the light. Ready to explode out, and seize her in its destruction at any second. It felt like rage, and hurt, and it made the forest seethe to life with new horrors just out of sight. 

The surface of the puddles roiled with every slimey gooey beast beneath. Every roosting bird cawed out into the darkness with sinister laughter, calling out with alarm as she ran by. Every prickling pointing vine that fell into her path, every tiny creature that fled in front of her- they felt it too. The pressure. How it was getting closer.

She had to make it to the edge. No matter what, she had to find the edge of the forest. Even if her heart burst, she had to keep going, get to the meadow. It would be safe there, it always felt safe there. Her little patch of sunshine.

Her foot slipped under a root, and her ankle bent at an angle it couldn’t. 

_It’s over._

The thought seared through her, as she put her hands out to catch herself. The host on her heels was fast approaching, and she could see the ugly colors her ankle had already started to turn as she freed herself from the coiled root.

The splashes slowed as the multitude of footsteps found their way just out of her vision. Something else was closing fast, and then...it was there.

She trembled when she could feel it looking at her from the dark. The presence which had come upon her as she was broken and defeated. It’s host murmured in raspy whispers as she felt herself being studied. Sized up.

There was no time to become strong. She just had to be strong, but in this moment she wasn’t sure how. She wasn’t a fighter, something she promised she would resolve should she make it out. Still, she wasn’t a thief either, a trespasser maybe, but not a thief. So did she really need to be afraid?

She tried to think of something to say, but when she drew a breath to speak she could feel everything grow heavy around her. A thick displeasure manifested by the creature sulking through the dark. So her lips pressed together, and her eyes strained to meet those she knew were on her.

An uncomfortable time passed and she tried to stand, to be formal, to look less weak, but instead she cried out the moment she put weight on her leg. It was bad, worse than she’d thought in her shock. A disapproving sound issued into the darkness as she fell against the tree which had wounded her, and she swore it felt like it rose to meet her apologetically. 

It was then that she wondered if she’d gone crazy.

Yet somehow the pressure seemed to subside, ever so slightly, and an abrasive bark was issued from the dark. An order, but in a language she couldn’t understand, and directed to something lurking out of view on her exposed side. A something that groaned with disappointment at this command.

She wasn’t sure why, but she felt suddenly grateful. If they had wanted, she was sure these shadows in the dark were powerful enough to rend her apart, spirit her away, or inflict whatever other manner of punishment they saw fit for her slight. Yet they stayed out of sight, studied, waited.

A new impulse came over her, as much good as those had done for her tonight, but she was sure it was right. She stooped down and grabbed a loose branch, leaning against it so that she could walk. Take a step. Right toward the faerie in the darkness. 

_I've gone mad._

Somehow, she’d made herself move again anyway. As she took the first step- nothing. Then a second and third, but as she lifted the branch and brought herself just close enough to see what she faced, her gamble paid off. A step back. A retreat. A smile, but only on her lips.

The atmosphere felt suddenly shaken, and she got a distinct aura of discomfort from the Fae in the darkness at her attempt to face him. Unsettled by her boldness.

She gave a small bow toward them, a courtesy and respect to their court, and came no closer. 

A face leaned forward in the darkness, just enough. All rough hewn lines, and dangerous angles, baring teeth. The expression he wore was a warning of hideous wrath. He stood otherworldly, gnarled and spindly sharp, but with eyes that turned moonlight into day. 

Against her better judgment, a trend for her this evening, she met his eyes with hers. She looked over him, agape with wonder, even as she was terrified- and he was terrifying. For a second she thought of reaching out to him like she had with the primrose, but, even in all her foolishness, she knew that was too far.

Something flashed across his face at her reaction to him, and she couldn’t read it, although she had a feeling it was something close to disgust. He withdrew into the shadows once again, leaving her staring after him, searching the dark.

He let out a sound, like a growl in his throat, frustrated. Unsure. Inconvenienced. Then, to the left of her, a heavy staff struck the ground grasped in a clawed hand, and his body followed. Slinking toward the place his staff had landed he pulled himself into it and stood at his full height. It was predatory, and looming. He moved fluidly, but everything about him seemed to hum under the surface with unsteady energy.

Her neck craned as he looked down his long nose at her, and she realized just how utterly tiny she must seem to him. How insignificant. It brought her fear flitting back over her. 

She had to matter, she had to be important, or interesting. She had to be worth keeping alive.  
  
__________

 **Notes:** Thank you for reading the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. The song for the title of this work is inspired by a line in, "You Go on Ahead (Trumpet Trumpet II)" by Sunset Rubdown. The chapter title is from a line in, "Landfill" by Daughter.

  


**Chapter warnings *spoilers for this chapter*:** This chapter contains non-explicit references to sex, infidelity, death, and suicidal ideations. Additional warnings can be added by request.


	2. You Were A Kindness

  
  
His eyes flicked over her. 

He still wasn’t sure what to make of this tiny creature who was standing to face him. To stare down the Bog King of the Dark Forest. Even after she’d trespassed upon their sacred grove. Even as she’d reached out to take from him. To steal the forbidden, and corrupt the magic of the forest. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to end her as he knew he should. He easily could.

He leaned close over her, rotating his body around behind her. Seeing her from different angles, and reminding her that she could not intimidate him. That she was at his mercy, and she should be begging for it right about now.

Yet she was studying him in return, and his wings buzzed with agitation. Why was she not afraid anymore? She looked on him as everyone did, with morbid curiosity, and distaste, but not the fear that he’d seen flicker across the faces of many ill fated tresspassers to his domain. The mortal terror the moment they caught sight of him. The moment before their end.

He ground his teeth, a motion which seemed to remind her at least somewhat of what she was facing, and the way it sent a shiver across her pleased him. She at least sensed her place in the food chain should she misstep now- not that he would. _Disgusting._

Standing back in front of her he sighed. She hadn’t taken anything. In fact, she had left an offering. 

He turned sharply on the vassal who had alerted him to the presence in his forest, “Why did you call me out here?!” 

“Sssirre,” the diminutive creature stammered, “We were sure she was about to take…”

“About to take something is not taking something!” the Bog King’s voice roared.

“Now what am I to do with her? She’s done us no wrong, and yet we have hunted her down. I will not owe a debt to some mortal girl who wandered the forest on the wrong night, because you cannot tell the difference between doing and almost doing.”

His fingers pressed into his brow with frustration. 

This girl was either the greatest fool, or the luckiest. Either way, what a fool girl she was, because who would wander the forest on this night? The reasoning to go alone into the sacred places of her ancient kin and his, on a night when the two worlds blended, was beyond him.

Maybe she was another lovesick young mortal trying to find promise in legend. To steal a primrose on this eve of spring and summer. 

_A last chance at...love._

He could feel himself scowl at the idea. Maybe, she had failed just in time to be guiltless. Or perhaps she just wanted to disappear. He turned to face her once more with tired eyes.

She stepped toward him. Again! What is she getting at?! He didn’t retreat, but he did lean away as she stepped forward. She swiveled her eyes up to meet his. Big eyes, that drank in the moonlight, and reflected honey sweet earnesty at him. Not pleading, but questioning. Curious, and bold. He couldn’t help but be impressed by her reckless bravery.

“If that I could understand what you are saying,” she sighed at him, “then maybe I could know what I have done to offend you so.” 

Her tone was stiffly formal, and it made him twist his neck to crack the tension out. He slumped down into a more comfortable position to study her, adding a gravity to his looming figure, but she didn’t back away as he had hoped. 

Instead, she took it as an invitation to continue, turning her head to meet the angle of his, “When I came here tonight I didn’t want to leave, you know. I wanted to be lost. Then, entirely by accident, I saw the beauty of a love that lives between worlds,” she let out an airy laugh, “I know it's not real. None of it really is, and that’s why I’m saving mine for myself. My love.” 

She let her lips hang in parted silence for a moment before she finished, “Now that I want to see what it’s like to live for myself I don’t feel so lost anymore.”

The girl smiled up at him, and it felt like she had reached out and struck him. Sucker punched him right in the jaw.

That smile, it opened a wound he thought cauterized long ago. It was an ember nestled deep in the heart of someone who had just seen their whole world burn down, and it sparkled in her eyes. It rested on the corners of her lips, and she was going to use it to set the world on fire. He could feel it, and something inside him wanted to lean toward the warmth.

Now she did what he had always expected, and shrunk away. He imagined the way his expression must look- hungry and cold. He had forgiven her in the same heartbeat that felt the sting of her withdraw, but some childish voice wanted to get closer. Fan the flames, and see what inferno waited inside her. She was starting to become interesting. 

He could see she was aware of her offense, even if he knew it was something she couldn’t help. She seemed to search for some way to make up for it, looking panicked for a moment, she seemed to blurt out an invitation, “Come to my wedding feast.”

 _Wedding?_ He drew back up at that, standing straight again. 

A maid betrothed, in his forest, who had tried to take something so dangerous as that primrose when she already had what it promised? A maid whose heart was scorched. Whose smile battled the darkness in the gulf of hopes that left her consumed. Whose eyes shone now with rekindled optimism. She was to be wed? 

_She is interesting._

She looked down at her feet in his silence. She fidgeted with her hands nervously, “It’s to be in the fall, after the harvest festival.” She filled her lungs with a breath, “we are to be married on the following eve.” 

He waited, watching her gather her hands into fists as she continued, “If you come to the feast, and I haven’t figured a way to save myself from being his wife, you can do as you please with me. Carry out then the punishment I’m asking that you put off tonight. You will have gained a full belly and a night of merriment, and still have whatever justice it is you might seek.”

So she wasn't some lovesick waif looking to find the easy route to affection. She wanted to escape love, not seek it. He could relate.

He was intrigued by her decision to negotiate, but it hardly seemed sporting with as badly as she had read his intent. Had her assumptions been right it would have made a clever bargain; saved her the mess of finding her own way out. Instead, she’d be sorely disappointed to find the reality of her position should she fail to escape her marriage- as his host departed with full bellies to leave her to fate. Still, who was he to turn down a feast, even if it meant he had to go to a party? 

He did enjoy this game though, and he wouldn’t deny himself the gratification of this amusement . 

“How do I trust a girl to keep one bond while she actively tries to forsake another?” 

His sudden use of her tongue threw her off, and the shadow of a mocking smile crossed his lips, but it didn’t take long for her expression to steel once more. He tried not to let it settle over his own face just how pleased the fight in her left him.

“I would never seek to be free of bonds that were not already broken,” her tone slipped back into the formal, rolling with anger, but the bite of it wasn’t for him. It was as if she was sharpening her teeth for a battle yet to come, “I can’t wear his chains!”

He saw her frame shaking a bit as she looked away, and part of him thought to reach out and steady her as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. For the King in the Dark Forest to offer comfort to a mortal girl. Instead he stood and looked down at her as she composed herself.

“No one is bound to a promise that was broken by another,” he kept his voice steady, but the pain of his words dragged through him. As much as they were meant to steady her they admonished him. 

He saw her face shift from pained to at least somewhere a bit more distant, and he tried to find that far away place himself. Letting the next move rattle in his mind during the cooling moment.

Picking back up their bargaining he stumbled on an idea, “Well then, since your notion of honor is intact, I might still be willing to accept your request, but” he let the pause roll over them for effect, “should you find your escape, then I am left without the conclusion of what I am honor bound to carry out for your actions this night.”

 _Which is nothing at all._

He let the corners of his lips twitch, relishing the feeling he was getting away with something.

“I suppose the drowsy stupor of a well feasted stomach won’t be enough to put honor to rest, then?” She gave him a wry smile.

“Nay, afraid I wouldn’t sleep on my honor for drink and fine food.” He could, but he wouldn’t. At least not if it meant he could see what she might offer instead.

He could see several things flash over her face as she considered what to offer.

“Then, should I find my life my own on the morning after the feast, I shall grant you a favor and no matter what you ask I will not refuse you if it’s mine to give.” 

His mind reeled a bit. 

_An open ended promise, with my people, was she insane?_

He turned her words over in his mind. What could he need of her? Yet, the offer was enticing, the kind of bargain that itched to be sealed before she could amend it. He sensed something too good to be true, but she had come into the forest tonight, and almost plucked the primrose. Maybe she didn’t know better.

“What do I have to lose? If I can’t find a way out of marrying him then I’d happily end my suffering,” she stepped closer into his space, “whatever you’d ask, should I belong to myself, would be worth the knowledge I would have never faced the alternative. Even If you asked for my death, I could at least die as my own person.” 

He felt a twinge of discomfort that she would think he might ask for her to die for his amusement alone. A smaller pang at the idea that she was so willing to smother out that little light that he saw shining through the morbidity of her declaration. Even if she had a clever loophole weaved into her offer he still lost nothing, except to have to attend a mortal feasting celebration- a loathsome idea, but nothing truly lost. 

It suddenly became important to him to see how this all played out. The reason was beyond him, but it struck as a challenge.

“I will accept your deal on the condition that you return to the Forest upon each new and full moon until the festival to reaffirm the bond with an offering.”

 _What am I doing?_

His head buzzed, he was being more a fool than this girl, asking her to come back. Why- to keep an eye on her? Distracting as she was for him on this night, would she keep his interest, or would he be bored with her before he even returned to his realm at sunup. Was he so desperate for diversion that he didn't want to wait a whole season to see her again?

“What kind of offering?” Her wary voice broke into his thoughts.

“Whatever you’d like,” he could hear the grasping in his own voice at her hesitation, “just so long as you think it’s something worth giving.”

He didn’t want to think about why right now. He was just sure he wanted her to agree.

“Then I accept,” she leaned her head toward him unsurely, “uhh, do I need to do anything special here?”

He hadn’t thought about it. 

“It may be taken care of in the same way you humans seal your dealings.”

He saw her nod, and then with a slight hesitation upon looking at his taloned hand, offered her own.

“You humans, huh?” She let out a nervous giggle, “what do you call yourself?”

“I am of the Dark Forest. I am Goblin,” he pounded his chest proudly, “I am Bog King.”

Then he reached his hand toward her, realizing how it dwarfed hers. For a moment he hovered, but then moved to clasp her wrist delicately, noting her valiant effort not to flinch. He felt her pulse fluttering like butterflies wings under his touch. So fast, so warm, so fleeting.

Her hand returned the gesture, letting her fingers slide slowly around the texture of his hide. He realized he didn’t know what she called herself either. 

“Then I, Princess Marianne, accept the terms of this bargain, and promise to uphold my words to the extent that honor dictates in this matter.” 

The formality of her words almost made him miss her title, but only almost. Princess. He hated princesses, but he had sensed something different in her. Besides, it was too late to turn back.

“I, Bog King, accept the terms of this bargain, and promise to uphold my words to the extent that honor dictates in this matter.” 

They both lingered bound together by their grip. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be the first to let go, but then the eye contact became too much for them both at once. As if all this formal dance had worn them both out at the same time, and they had remembered themselves, both loosening their hold in unison.

He tried to shrink back into himself a bit, all the boldness that his wrathful anger had manifested finally fading. He saw her look up at the sky, as if to look at anything but him now that she didn’t have to.

“It won't be long,” her delivery sounded, to him, an awful lot like small talk.

He loathed small talk. Was she already becoming tiresome?

“Hmm?”

“The full moon. A few more days I think.”

He joined her in looking at the waxing moon, “Aye.”

Their eyes found each other again as he looked back down at the same time she did. Neither of them knowing how to end this strange moment. How out of place they both seemed to feel on the edge of the forest, under the moon. Human and Goblin. Mortal and Faery. 

“I suppose, then, that I will be seeing you again in a few days.” She looked at him softly but expectantly.

He let her gentle smile linger on him for a few moments before realizing she was waiting on him to dismiss her. It was, after all, his forest. A princess knew her manners in these things he supposed.

“Aye,” he rubbed at the back of his neck with his hand, his full awkwardness returning, “I will see you then..again,” he fumbled with his words and her saw her purse her lips to hide a smile, “I will see you...later, then.” 

“Until then,” she gave a slight bow, “be well.”

He dipped his head in return, and watched as she leaned on her branch to take a few steps backward before turning. 

It was then he saw how badly she was limping, and how fiercely she was trying to hide her pain. To not tremble in the chill of the night against her wet clothes. 

Delicate, fragile mortal lives, but she wasn’t so soft as she seemed. Though she spoke of death, she already lived more brightly than any human he could recall.

He felt instantly guilty for making her stand so long while he indulged his curiosity. For driving her so frantically through the trees that she hurt herself so. For making her suffer a deal, when she had owed him nothing, and in fact already sacrificed something to the forest.

His honor asked him to even things out a bit.

“I’m sorry,” his apology was a whisper too low for her to hear, but a promise none the less. For, to be sorry was to admit guilt, and for that his honor would have him attone. 

Another way to see her sooner, perhaps, but it was also to thank her for what she had given him, in his own way, even if he wasn’t sure how to express what that was just yet.  
  
__________

 **Notes:** A bit more angsty-ness I suppose, but it gets a bit less formal from here as they move beyond the heavy emotions of the evening. The chapter title is from the song, "You Were A Kindness" by The National.

  


**Chapter warnings *spoilers for this chapter*:** This chapter contains non-explicit references infidelity, injury, and suicidal ideations. Additional warnings can be added by request.


	3. Hang On to Each Other

  
  
Marianne’s valiant efforts to swat her sister’s hands away were useless. Dawn was nothing if not instant.

“What are we gonna do with this,” her sister tisked as she tried to arrange Marianne’s straggly sheared locks into something more ladylike without much luck.

It was obvious the attentions of her sibling were a tactic to distract herself from pretty much every other thing that had happened since this morning, but Marianne was tired. There was so much to do, and none of it involved making sure her hair looked nice.

“Dawn,” she finally tuned and trapped her sister’s hands in her own, “it's alright.”

She tried to put on her most reassuring smile, but that just seemed to remind Dawn that nothing was, in fact, “alright”. 

“Why won't you tell anyone then,” Dawn’s expression was as pleading as her words, “not even me?”

The way her sister looked at her could have moved the moon to shine like the sun, but she couldn’t tell her. Not any of it. The parts that had hurt, still hurt too much, and the rest- well who would believe her? Even Dawn wasn’t that whimsical. 

The Good People, faeries, beyond the superstitious nonsense that the older generation liked to rattle on about. Not some moralistic tale about riches, or a warning of curses. No half lidded recollection of beautiful creatures dancing through the forest. They had actually been right there in front of her.

Besides, the stories did them no justice. Or rather, they were erroneously off on a few of the details. Like, beautiful was hardly a word that sprang to mind, though, she felt a little guilty at the thought. There were those eyes. A blue that shined in her mind even as she jumped at shadows for fear of what might emerge from them again.

“Marianne?” Her sister gentle question startled her into actually jumping.

“Sorry. I’m just a little tired.”

Dawn eyed her with an incredulity that suggested if she strained hard enough she might discern all the answers that rested in Marianne’s silences.

“You have to come out tonight, Marianne! Father said so,” Dawn returned to fussing with Marianne’s hair, and continued with a slightly cautious tone, “besides, Roland is worried about you.”

As she winced at his name she couldn’t help but let out a sound that could only be described as a snort, to which she was sure her sister would read too much into.

“He’s only worried about himself,” and there went her mouth again. Marianne wondered for a moment if she was now physically unable to keep herself from acting on every destructive impulse.

She felt Dawn’s hands pause for a moment, but stopped the question on her lips before it could escape, “I’ll be at dinner tonight, but everyone will be disappointed when I give them nothing new to gossip about.”

“How cruel,” her sister teased, “all of us stuck out in the middle of nowhere, and you won’t even give the court some new material.”

“You’ll just have to suffer through the newest speculation on the unfolding, ‘who keeps moving everything an inch to the left in the sewing room’ mystery.” Marianne plucked a burr from her cloak as she laughed. 

“Oh, I’m sure you won't be able to help but find some new way to keep everything interesting. You seem to be pretty good at it lately.” 

They both laughed a bit too hard at that as the door to Marianne’s room swung open to the suspicious looks of three handmaidens. They had been with the family for as long as the girls could remember, attending them since their mother had passed, and knew when the girls were in a mood. 

“Something funny, your grace?” Iona raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing funny about this, I’d say,” Lilidh interjected as she found her way over to join Dawn in attempting to arrange Marianne’s hair.

The last of the three, Delen, was close behind with a small sharp blade chirping in as she held it up, “Nothing we can’t fix.” 

So they all set to work, making Marianne look at least somewhat like she hadn’t dragged herself through a dark and stormy forest the night before. To their credit it was worlds better than she could have managed without their help, and she was secretly grateful even as she was ready to escape again when the third layer of dressing had started. Pretending to be patient was the least she could give them for all the worry she’d caused. All the worry she knew she’d continue to cause.

Still, no matter how fine her gowns were, or how perfectly her hair was arranged it wouldn’t stop how horrible she knew tonight would feel. To face her father, and the whispers of a meddlesome court, and pretend like she hadn’t just run away from her betrothal. From everything that had almost made her so happy, until it didn’t. Until he smothered her joy. Not to mention, he would be there as well- to remind her.

At least she had been left her to herself for a while until she was called for dinner. Time to think.

She pulled her cloak around her shoulders. The one that she had left under the Hawthorn the night before. It had been draped over her when she woke up in the meadow on the edge of the forest this morning. When they had found her there covered in morning dew, ankle wrapped in gauze like spider silk, she hadn’t remembered how it had gotten there. 

She reached down and soothed her hand over her leg and down to the soft bindings, but there was still no swelling or pain. It didn’t make any sense. She had barely made it past the new growth treeline when she had collapsed from the pain, her ankle swollen and purple, and her feet bleeding from running over the stones.

Now there was a dull pressure, but no pain. She didn’t dare disturb her wrappings, as she was sure it was what was saving her from the misery of her injury. The way the delicate gossamer strands wound around her limb was a magic she was only just becoming familiar with, and now, more than ever, was grateful for. 

The bindings reminded her of her new bonds. Putting away her heart, and remembering her duty. Even as she redefined what that meant. How tonight would be the beginning of changing that fate, and embracing new responsibilities. 

Alone in her room she had very little time to figure out just how that might happen. 

There was a distant sense of gratefulness to the goblin, Bog King, for at least he had given her something other than her loss to focus on. 

That faithless creature who had sent her running into the forest didn’t deserve her mourning. The awful feelings she slogged through because of him. It wasn’t fair, she didn’t want this painful pining over something that she now realized she had never really possessed. His love. 

All his pretty, empty, words that filled her heart and made her ache for spring each year when he and his clan would return to their court and stay to feast for Calan Mai. She had always waited for him at the gates, and he had always run to her. When they were young they had played, and he had been her knight. As they grew they would lay next to each other in the meadows as he whispered poems, and she weaved wreaths of flowers for his head, with new adorations on his lips. Placating promises. Forever, and only. Devotion, and divine fate. Their love.

_Hands trace over the laces of trousers, with yearning warmth beneath, and fingers find their way inside with breaking breaths between. Wanting warps the waiting hearts of those whose eyes now see, what little lies between lord’s thighs, could waste devout decrees. A sigh, seditious slides, through lips whose levity, which was once enjoyed in blissful blind, now show perfidy._

Even his indiscretions still weaved new prose in her heart. So she was grateful to have the promise in the changing of the moon. Her heart had already started to cling to it as much as she guarded herself. Something new to keep close to her instead of the pain of remembering she was always meant to be the means to someone else's end.

  
  


__

  
  


The Bog King was rubbing the knuckles of his fist back and forth over his bottom lip in thought. Turning over something he was sure would be trouble, and not for itself, but because he was thinking about it. About her.

He had watched her leave, dismissing his host to return to the entrance of his realm near the Hawthorn that marked its gates. He had followed silently to the edge of the trees to see how far she made it, which turned out to be not very. Standing over her as she slept among the spring blooms, he felt protective.

He had retrieved her cloak- which she had left, so it was his now he supposed, but he laid it over her none the less. Despite how the gesture may be seen in light of his new ownership over the garment. How it could be interpreted as a different kind of protective.

Who would question his intent? It was easy enough to ignore the significance, and attribute it to appeasing the requirements of his quiet apology. A king did as he pleased, and it had pleased him to ease her suffering. To ease his guilt over his role in it. 

No one needed to know he had petitioned the Seelie Court of Spring to call their healers to her aid. They had owed him anyhow for the willow wands they had collected from his forest early in the season. He needn't save a favor from them when the forest provided well enough for itself. 

“Bog?” His mother’s voice resonated harshly in the large hollow throne room. “You look like you swallowed something sideways,” she smiled in a way that worried him, “I know just the thing to cheer you up!”

His first unfurled into a tense claw as it fell into his lap and his eyes swiveled down on her, “Mother, please..”

“Ladies!”

A deep growl rumbled through his chest, but his mother only shook her head.

“I’m teasing you! Geeze, lighten up, will ya?” Grizelda shrugged her shoulders in a sigh, “You can grump around all you want, but you know you can’t hide from the issue forever.”

“Yes, mother. You will never cease to remind me I’m sure.”

“I think you dodged the bullet for the last time, son.” She gave him a look that was as serious as she could, “the year will pass in no time, and the courts will reconvene. You won’t have much choice the next time around if you wanna secure the territory.”

His fingers twitched back toward a fist, but he relaxed himself, tried to keep from looking shaken. She was right, for as ridiculous as her parade of courtesans were, it wouldn’t hurt to build alliances with a strong court. Especially with the coming Renewal of the Cycle.

“Aye, and I will suffer my duty, but not before I must- if you please.”

Griselda's hands clasped together over her heart, “Such a romantic, my son!”

He lifted an eyebrow at her as she continued her theatrics, “My Lady, I suffer my duty for you,” her brogue thickened and her voice graveled as she finished by pretending to dip the imaginary suitor in a kiss. “I do this for you my obligation, because I must!”

Two snickering laughs could be heard from somewhere behind him.

“Stuff. Thang. If you would, refrain from encouraging her.” His words were formal, but his tone was dangerous.

“Oh yeah, sure thing BK!” Stuff elbowed Thang who was still laughing.

“Yes, sire!” 

“Oh, you two, don’t let ole’ gloomy britches get you all worked up. If he tries to ban laughter I’m gonna overthrow him myself.” Giselda waved a hand dismissively toward him.

“Now I have to deal with treasonous declarations, in my presence, and by my mother no less? My rule is truly undermined.”

“Maybe if you had a queen to legitimise you? Or at the very least someone new to scold you for all your batchelor habits, hmm.”

“Like the lady in the forest,” Thang attempted to joke, “that one sure knows how to keep him on his feet, huh?”

Stuff looked at Thang with slack jawed terror, and Griselda with unbridled curiosity. Bog however, had turned slowly in his throne, with death in his eyes. 

“Lady?” His mother’s question sounded like a grin.

“She’s a human, mam,” Stuff squeaked an answer.

“The human is no one’s concern but mine. You are to speak no more on this. Any of you.”

His voice roared through the cavernous space, and everyone had winced at the booming sound and the growing anger around him. He was sure his mood would do nothing but raise more questions when all he wanted more then anything was for the subject to be forgotten. 

“Bog, son, is everything ok?” 

His mother rarely asked a question so directly, and he whipped his head back around to her. His scowl bearing teeth, and his eyebrows drawn in, he looked anything but ok.

“A human,” her face was strangely neutral, “now, there’s something.”

“Something, what?” His words spat out.

“Stop your barking! Show your dear Ma some respect, will ya?” She huffed, crossing her arms, “I just didn’t expect you to try and be the one to, well- ya know. A human. Kinda out of character for you.”

“The one to what…” His words fell off at Griselda’s heavy look. 

_A human? What about it? ...Oh, that._

It would be around the time he joined her for her feast that the Unseelie Court of Winter would make a sacrifice of their Queen’s consort. A human man, whom she had married at the beginning of the last Cycle, would now find his end at it’s conclusion.

That’s what she meant. That girl, _his human. No._

“No.”

“No?”

“You are correct in assuming that is outside of my character. I don’t seek solace in the revelries of the Unseelie Courts. The girl is not to enter the Cycle.” 

“Then what, under the stars above, were you doing with a human during the transition? For Peats sake, son- was she after that damned flower?” She threw her arms in the air as his expression confirmed her suspicion.

“She wasn’t exactly,” he scratched the back of his neck, “she was here on accident. We may have…” he cleared his throat as his mother prepared her most disappointed stare, “made a bond, possibly.”

“We’re doomed.” Griselda deadpanned.

“It’s nothing, the deal benefits my end of the bargain entirely.” 

“I would hope so! Your father would roll in his grave to know you bargained with a human for any less than the best of odds, but still- what were you thinking?! We only have a season! One season, kid!”

Griselda paced the throne room as Bog threaded his finger together in front of himself.

“It will be over by the human’s feast of harvest. Several moons before Winter. Should her bargain play out, she shall owe me a promise of my choosing. If not, she has given me her life. It would not be dishonorable to take her as a sacrifice, but I will not.”

“Wait, so she's trying to off herself, and you still wouldn’t consider it?”

“Would you?” He shot his mother a shocked look.

She put a hand on her forehead, pinching her brow. “No, not really. It’s just, you know the position this puts us in?! You gotta resolve this, or you're about to get a lot more involved in politics than sifting through some marriage proposals.”

“Working on it.”

Griselda’s eyes widened, and her hands went up in a motion that looked like she was squeezing an invisible head until it popped. He imagined that she was seeing one much like his.

“Well, if I would have known humans were your thing,” a wicked smile ran across her face, “I would have suggested you go out to stand watch over that dumb primrose ages ago.” 

He wanted to retort, but he knew that it was easier to humor her on this than continue to defend why he had chosen to do something so brash with so little time to make it work in his favor. The preeminent planner he was, even he knew this was something that couldn’t be decided entirely by clever scheming. 

Humans were fickle changing things, but faeries knew their fair share of that themselves. It was the human heart that he didn’t know. He had seen his world torn down. Torn out from his heart. Just as he could feel from her. The difference was that when she found the sword’s point at her chest, blocking her way, she took a step forward. 

He wasn’t sure he could let her throw herself on his sword; or anyone else's for that matter. 

_If only tonight was a new moon._

  
  


__________

 **Chapter Notes:** Some dialogue time, and now Dawn and Griselda enter the story. May need some editing when I wake up, haha! The song for this chapter is, "Hang on to Each Other" by Silver Mt. Zion

  


**Chapter Warnings:** Some sexual references, and suicide/death


	4. No One Is Ever Going To Want Me

  
  


His mind had been haunted by the tune of some distant chorus all morning. The patterns persisted through the afternoon, and he found himself humming them as he paced. Wondering if she would come.

_She will._

He had watched her, observed her routine from afar for the last few days. Not spying, just seeing discreetly. Watching from the walls that were built to keep the wild at bay, yet he was there. In the dark at the edge of formal and feral. From a distance, and not spying. Watching; observing. 

He saw that she kept her wit sharp, but her claws hidden. He couldn’t always hear her words, but he could see the way she smiled just right, and moved just so. Only when no one could see would she breathe like air was free, and turn her face to the sky like the sunlight was keeping her secrets. 

That’s the face that he had found in the forest. Defiant. Denying the forlorn, the fragile, the forces of fate, the instinct to flee from fearful features she’d found in the dark. That's the face he was waiting to see again- the one that faced him.

“Is someone there?” 

He pressed himself reflexively against the tree he had been leaning on. Like she’d caught him in a thought he didn’t want to share, and if she saw his face she would surely be able to read his mind.

A moment of doubt flashed through him in his flightiness. He had cursed his habit of impetuosity when he had left her on that first night, but now, despite his misgivings, a grin had seeped into the edges of his expression.

_She came._

___

If words and deeds could be a weapon, she had to wield hers carefully, because she still wasn’t sure if she was arriving to a sanctuary or as a sacrifice. 

She was resolved to find the former, because she’d decided she wouldn't let herself build a monument to the worst in everyone. When she had stood up in the woods that night and walked toward the dark, she reminded herself it was because she truly saw a light there instead. How that was why she was walking through the forest toward darkness again.

A low tune rumbled over a slender throat, repeating. She imagined the way it bobbed as he hummed in her mind. He was hidden in the shadows on the dark side of the trees while the sun set, and the sound of his haunting tone caused her to shiver a bit despite the early summer heat that clung to her

When she called out he hadn’t answered, and for a second she felt a bit dejected. Again. 

She’d come all this way, with plenty of risk to herself- especially if her father knew! Despite just happening to find him in the forest- _no coincidence!_ Now he wasn’t going to bother to take her gift in person?

She marched up to the trunk, circling slowly around to where he must be. She jumped out to surprise him, but much to her own, he wasn’t there.

She could hear the scrape of a hand dragging along the bark just out of sight around the trunk, and she followed, glancing around the tree more cautiously now. He seemed to be always just ahead of her, feet crunching through the leaves, and nails dragging along the bark just enough to make a sound, but leave no trace.

“Fine!” She finally huffed, leaning her back against the gnarled elm, “I brought an offering, as I said I would. I think it’s rather appropriate considering which moon it is.”

Still, silence met her, and so she sat her gift down among the roots of the tree and worked her way around again until she had chased him to the opposite side where it sat.

The new silence was quickly broken by the sound of a stifled chuckle.

“The Milky Moon, aye.” she could hear him swirl the jug around as he laughed to himself.

As if on que the edge of the moon found its way into the sky, and it wasn’t long before the forest was washed in its cool light as she listened patiently to the music of the evening. To the sounds of the pitcher turn up every so often as he imbibed the affirmation of their bond.

“I hope it’s acceptable, it was the creme of the day, and I’ll have you know I fought pretty hard with at least two dairy maids to get it, and even so I still managed to get away without telling them why I wanted it.” 

She got the feeling he had nodded approvingly instead of answering out loud, despite the fact that he was still out of sight. Curious, she tiptoed around the tree again, and found a man sitting on one of its knotted roots.

Not at all like who she’d met before. He was almost glossy in the moonlight, the cutting angles of his face were replaced with fine structure, and framed with silken hair the color of polished hardwood. His clothes overly wrought and fine on his strong lean frame.

It had taken her a moment to find his eyes. The only proof to her that he was the same, the blue that had danced in her mind since that night. 

She was relieved he didn’t try to run this time, and he studied her as she took him in. The glow of his gaze now somehow so much more distant in the noise of the face he wore; nothing special.

She wanted to wipe it away. She didn’t like the way it seemed to shimmer over him like light from a mirror. He was too beautiful, an artifice, and it reminded her so much of...Roland. 

“I hate it.”

She didn’t bother stopping herself. The whole moment had become so loud, and it screamed through her as she kept herself from covering her ears.

His face hung in the sort of stunned look Roland had worn when she had whispered to him over dinner that her crown would never belong to him, nor would she. When he saw she meant it, and she saw the panic of his unraveling.

Now, looking down at this man wearing what must be the most comely face she was sure she’d ever seen, her eyes well with angry tears. 

“Damn you,” it was a whimper from her lips, and it made the sentiment batter her resolve with waves of disappointment, “I was going to be strong. I promised.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. She shook her head at him in such a small movement it looked like she was quivering, and she shifted her weight to fidget awkwardly.

“I had hoped, maybe, that at least you had taken me seriously. No, you're just like everyone who approaches me as if I can’t possibly bear anything real,” her tone carried an edge now. 

He stood shifting his weight to step toward her. 

“Don’t you dare,” her stance shifted away, more hardened now, “I will keep my word, but I don’t need you to bat your pretty eyelashes at me from behind some beautiful mask. Oh- the scary creature from the dark forest is truly a handsome faery prince, come to take pity on the poor old maid who no one will have, but for what I can give them!” 

Her hands punctuated every statement with tense gesticulations, and he kept his distance. He looked absolutely crestfallen at her reaction. The way his posture slumped, shrunk into himself, was so out of pace with his looks. It made her temper cool instantly, realizing her bitter feelings weren’t about him.

“Yer right, handsome is not a word for me, heh,” he looked up at her with just his eyes. “Hideous is a better fit,” they were his eyes again, and it broke her heart a bit. 

“You're not hideous,” it came out as earnest a sentiment as her hatred had before. 

She could see his surprise again, as he tried to form a few more words before settling on something between, “huh?” and, “oh.”

“I’m sorry I lost my temper,” her words had returned to uncertain reticence, “I imagine you weren’t trying to illicit that response with your tricks.”

“What do you see?” His question seemed to ignore her apology, slightly urgent, “Why did you call me beautiful, handsome, what do you see?

She furrowed her brow at his sudden shift, and considered the question. Trying to find some words that would explain her reaction.

“Something bright, like someone who has put on every beautiful feature they’ve ever admired all at once. It’s the kind of face that would only look at me should it want something. It looks false and overwhelming.”

“I think I understand why it makes you angry,” he ventured a step closer into a better vantage to judge her expression, “why does it make you sad?”

_Because it makes me believe you think I’m empty and vain. A vacant girl whose only want is to be wooed. A naive coddled child to be placated. It makes me believe I'm still the fool I let myself be._

“It reminds me of him.”

___

 

_Him._

This man that she wanted to be rid of. Of his falseness, and his faithlessness. Yet he also made her sad. A contradiction of the human heart he did not yet grasp.

Still, he did not want to remind her of him. He didn’t want to be something that could hurt her. A conflicted heart did neither of them any good.

He was compelled to give her frustration an outlet even if, in the end, she had once again misread his intent.

“When you see me, I don’t control what you see,” the words rushed out, but he wanted to make sure they didn’t sound like blame. He needed her to understand, “the glamour is an illusion that reflects expectations”

“So I see what I want?” She made a breathy laugh, “I'm almost sure this isn't how I want to perceive you- a face I'd like to punch. At least not yet.”

Well, there is that at least. Not quite right, but it didn't leave him unhappy to hear.

“I choose what expectation I wish for you to perceive, and how you interpret that expectation is how I appear to you.”

_Oh, I’m sure that clears things up for her! Ye overgrown cricket. Always so articulate! He cursed himself._

“You choose how I see you, but somehow it has to do with what I want to see?” 

He waved a hand around in the air to indicate that she was close, but not exactly right. He was trying to beckon a better thought. How to explain to her just how embarrassingly egotistical he was being without spelling it out entirely.

“Not what you want to see, so much as what you expect to see. Like if I had wish to walk ignored among your kind I might choose to be seen as a beggar, or a vagabond.”

He watched the understanding wash over her.

“That’s why I asked how I looked to you, to know where the illusion went wrong, to understand how you interpreted it.”

“Like as a vagrant I may see a well worn but capable drunk with no need for my pity, yet my father may see an aging peasant- not such an unusual sight, and walk by without notice?”

“Yes, exactly. The magic works best because the observer is affected instead of the caster. It's a powerful illusion.”

“Wait- what did you choose? I told you what I saw, but what was it you wanted me to see?”

_And there it is._

The cleverness he had enjoyed in her company showed its curse, “I wanted to appear, err...powerful and otherworldly. Like from your human tales of our kind.”

“There must be more. That seems such a broad choice to have found a face that infuriated instead of infatuated.”

“I wanted to appear to be more formidable than any man you had seen before. More handsome.”

_Oh._

“Ah,” her answer echoed his thought.

“I mean,” now he stumbled to make that sound less covetous and vulnerable than it did hanging in the air between them, “...that is to say, I wasn’t... It’s more that, I was hoping to make you feel, well, more comfortable. After that night, I just figured, you know. I’d probably frightened you. I didn't want you to be put off, heh. I know humans value aesthetics, so I chose to be the most pleasing, the most capable.”

He knew he sounded vain in the way she must have thought his appearance was accusing her of, “ I'd hoped I might be startling.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he backtracked a bit realizing how he sounded, “Not as a cruelty! It was, at most, meant to pose a stark opposition to your memory. I'd hoped by being very pleasing.”

“It couldn’t have been the pleasing you focused on,” her cheeks seemed to pinken a bit, “obviously I was not pleased.”

“Aye.” 

“You were thinking of being startlingly handsome and capable. The most. The best. I guess that kind of intent focused on oneself only holds one expectation for me now. A man like Roland.”

He knew she was right. His intent had been selfish and preening. The kind of man she knew this Roland to be. Why wouldn't her expectation of such remind her of him.

They both stood a bit awkwardly facing each other, but looking vaguely away until she suddenly lit up a bit. 

“Try it. Can you? To be pleasing.” 

He shot her a confused look before he puzzled out what she’d meant. She wanted him to try to actually be the most pleasing to her, instead of what he had projected before. It wasn’t a thought he minded. He took a last swig from the dregs of the creamy milk she had brought.

“It’s easier to look human when you’ve consumed human goods,” he explained shortly while she looked on with interest.

“So, why does most pleasing mean human?”

“It’s how the illusion works. You’re likely to see your kind, because it’s what you expect. Like how I’m sure I appear to be clothed regionally, instead of something from a foreign land.”

She tilted her head a bit, “Well?”

“Water watched will never boil,” he went over to the tree slipping behind it once more with a sly expression, and he could hear her sigh, but she followed anyway.

A bit of a thrill rose in him as she chased him sunwise around the elm. He let her pick up speed, hearing her chuckle a bit as he’d easily change directions when she’d try to fool him. Until finally he let her win, just to see the look on her face when his appearance had turned to what pleased her most.

They collided for a second, her hands braced on his chest, and he could feel his insides squirm at the contact. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him outside of cordial handshakes, and greetings.She pushed off him with courteous apology, and looked down to hide a blush. It made his breath stutter a bit to see something so alive as warm cheeks when she wore them.

“Well?” His voice held a bit of pride, for reweaving a glamour spell wasn’t easy magic, and it was the second time tonight he’d managed.

He watched with anticipation as her eyes darted up to him as if he had been counting down until she could see a surprise. Her pupils looked ponderous in the night, exaggerated even more with her wide expression at what she saw.

“Much better,” she finally breathed with relief.

He found himself sucking in as she took a step in close to him, looking over his features, and he traced her studies. The way her eyelashes fluttered over the amber flash of her iris was the kind of captivating he didn’t mind letting himself enjoy.

“You hold me in suspense. Is what most pleases you to be a secret?”

She lifted her brows and gave her eyes a little roll.

“You look exactly like you did when we first met,” and at that she looked him right in the eyes with the biggest smile he’d seen her wear. As if to say ,‘I told you so!’ when he wasn’t sure what he’d contradicted. 

“Not human?”

He was perplexed. How was it that he wore an illusion that she saw through? Had he failed to properly enact the spell?

“No, but certainly most pleasing,” she said with confidence.

He saw her expression shift as his own eyebrows gave a gentle quirk. She realized exactly what she was saying, and her cheeks warmed even brighter. 

He enjoyed this game, of making her color rise by highlighting her words. Yet, he found himself to be in the same state as he fully took in what she was saying. What that meant for how she saw him. 

_The most pleasing. The most pleasing. The most pleasing._

He made sure to project it strongly as he watched her to see if she saw a change once she realized she must be wrong.

_The most pleasing. The most pleasing man._

“Wait? What…” 

Before she could see the change he sprung behind the tree and she gave chase once more. This time he popped out at her and made a face, and she squeaked in playful fear falling back with an “umph!”, yet still laughing.

“You look like a human again,” she said poking at his arm with force once he's helped her back to her feet, “but better this time. If you need to look like a human- this human has your eyes.”

The last words came as her face drew up close to his, looking up at him with intensity.

He suddenly felt all the breath squeezed from his chest before he had realized why. She had reached out. Was running light fingertips down from near the corner of his eye, over sharp cheekbones, and down to a stubbly chin. Exploring his features.

It took everything in him to not close his eyes and let his head fall back with a pleased groan. He'd never felt something like that, and he fought to keep it from escaping in his expression.

Boundaries were being crossed in his mind, but he refused to hurt her with his greedy thoughts. Feared it would frighten her- surely her touch was curiosity. It was gentle, and chaste. A maid reaching out to the face of a monster in the dark forest with brave innocence, but he could not keep her, so he would not let himself enjoy something in a way that wasn’t for him.

He felt her hand suddenly shoot back as she fell under his fierce eye contact. She made a little fist with the fingers she had worked through his features, and put it over her heart, “I’m...I don’t know what I was thinking. Truly, I have manners, somewhere. I just, um,” his eyes were still on her, “I can’t seem to help but indulge my whims lately. I will take control of myself, I can’t believe. I...I’m…”

“No need to apologize.” He cut her off before she made the mistake of a new oath. No need to complicate things.

_A bit Late!_ Complicated, it seemed, was his new reality.

His eyes still vividly on her, and his voice a quiet reverence. Now, a new heavy silence descended.

He scrambled for something to ease it, “Tell me, what did you mean, when you said this face has my eyes? Eyes are unchanged by the spell- too important.”

“It's hard to explain. They just look like the eyes I see when I imagine your face.”

“You imagine my face?”

_Ha!_ He'd returned her words again, and her cheeks tinted. It was an easy game for how fun it was to win.

“Your eyes, are very...distinct,” she frowned trying not to catch herself up again, but resigning to her choice in words, “I like them, and I like that this face suits them.”

“You find my eyes…ehm,” he choked a little on his teasing, realizing she might mean it, “pleasing?” It made his jest come out more earnestly.

“I find you pleasing,” she said with an entirely serious look, eye contact and all.

This time he could feel himself blush harshly,and he heard her soft laugh fall over him.

“I can play that game too, ya know,” she offered a sly glance.

“I hadn't realized you enjoyed the sport. Well played,” his comment came off much less collected than he had hoped. 

She'd used his game to find a way to leave him at a loss. 

“If exchanging platitudes was your interest I'd have easily won already- plenty of experience in polite lies,” she tilted her head one way and then the other in consideration, “Now, an honesty that wipes away the smug masks of civilized conversation, that's a game you may have found an advantage in.” 

He enjoyed the half cocked smile she wore as he tried to look unimpressed, “You prove to be a decent opponent for a wee princess. More than I would have though.”

She tapped her chin with her index finger, “Now you go and leave me nothing to work with!” She threw up her hands, “So unfair, now that I know what we're playing at you up your game!” 

He shrugged as if he hadn't even planned it that way, and went to point out how she'd now technically complimented him when she interrupted.

“WAIT,” she held her palms out to stop him from speaking, “what does it say about your abilities that you have to lower yourself to, how did you say it, a- ‘wee princess’, to feel witty in conversation?” 

He drew his chin back into his neck and huffed with exaggerated insult, “stooping to that then? At least you admit you're not much sport for someone so experienced!’ 

“Yes, your advanced age would afford you that. Still, I think it a point to me that despite my disadvantages I've managed to hold my own, thank you very much!” 

“Advanced age,” he gave a playful snarl, “a mortal would find that insulting.”

“You keep saying that. Mortal. Do faeries not age?”

Her face shifted suddenly into intense interest.

“It's...complicated,” he ventured, caught off guard in her shift to such a sincere tone, “another night perhaps?”

He turned his head to the moon, craning his neck to where it had risen. Tonight, he didn't want to pull her into everything, not yet. He would tell her, he owed her that, but he wanted just one night without new compilation- he owed her that too.

He had spent most of his time since meeting her upset at himself. Even more so having to face her after he'd realized his mistakes in making such a hasty bond at such an important juncture. For how that choice would affect her now too. How he hadn't considered her pain until he had already hurt her. It was her ankle in the root all over again, but no silky thread could hold back what would come should he not be able to follow through. 

“I promise,” he tried to give her a smile as he felt the glamour fade, “I will follow through.”

He saw her face had twisted for a moment, knowing his new vow wasn't about an averted conversation. She was trying to read between the lines. It was in the way her eyes met his to acknowledge the weight in his unsaid words before she eased his heart with her own.

“I know you will.”

  
  
__________  
**Chapter Notes:** A longer one, whoops! Oh well. Some nervous flirting and self doubt. Chapter song is "No One Is Ever Going To Want Me", by Giles Corey (warning for volume change near the end of the song).


End file.
